Numb from Home
by Shadowchaser56
Summary: "Gathering her thoughts, she began to move her fingers softly across the keys, filling the room with a light and cheerful melody that her mother used to play. She opened her eyes to the ocean of black and white." Sara's escaping to the music and band room... again. NOT SANDLE


Hey everyone! I just came up with this idea on the bus home from school because someone had a guitar on the bus and was playing the whole time. Let me know what you think- it's my first one-shot. Set sometime in high school.

Enjoy!

_**Sara's POV**_

Looking around, Sara couldn't spot anyone paying any attention to her, and she snuck silently away from the wave of people moving towards the already loud and busy cafeteria. She wanted to be alone so badly, and she had an idea. Used to going unnoticed and moving quickly and quietly, she was able to move into a side hallway and maneuver her way undetected through the school.

A wave of calm washed over Sara as she found the music and band room and snuck inside, sighing in relief at the dimly lit, empty room. The only light was coming in from the windows at the far side of the open room, and a piano was in the back corner. Almost unable to restrain herself, she walked over to it.

Sitting on the bench lightly, she lifted the lid and laid her fingers on the black and cream keys, feeling them settle automatically into position. She had taught herself to play when she was younger, and the feeling of her hands on the keys again made her remember her childhood, when things were simpler. Peace came over her, and she closed her eyes, feeling the absolute silence of the room.

Gathering her thoughts, she began to move her fingers softly across the keys, filling the room with a light and cheerful melody that her mother used to play. She opened her eyes to the ocean of black and white.

_You're going to get caught, you idiot, then you'll get detention again!_ Her subconscious yelled. _Then Mr. Scott will beat you again._

Bu Sara chose to ignore her depressing thoughts. For these few minutes, she felt like she had a home again. She continued to play, her mind no longer focused on what would happen as a result of her sneaking into the high school's band room for the thirteenth time. The soft melody swelled and retreated as the keys played rhythms and notes from the dark trenches of Sara's life before the foster care. The happier times before her father changed…

She blinked her eyes fiercely. A few tears fell onto the piano keys, and she stopped playing. Then another song came to mind, one she had heard played in the hallways once. She could remember the song exactly, it fit her so well.

Her fingers began to move again, starting the background music softer than she had been playing a few minutes ago. Sara smiled sadly and felt the music swell in her. She opened her mouth and let the words flow off her tongue.

_**Tired of being what you want me to be,**_

_**Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface.**_

_**Don't know what you're expecting of me,**_

_**But under the pressure of walking in your shoes,**_

_**Every step that I take is another mistake to you.**_

_**And every second I waste is more than I can take.**_

As she prepared herself to start the chorus, another soft, smooth voice jumped in and began to sing. Sara's voice choked up in her throat as she listened with fear.

… _**Is be more like me and be less like you.**_

Sara played a final chord, unable to leave the song unfinished. Then she leapt to her feet, whirling around in fear with hugely wide and terrified eyes at the thought of what would happen to her now.

But to her surprise and only slight relief, a boy with light brown hair and hazel eyes stood in front of her smiling in a teasing way. "You know you have a lovely voice, but you'rej really not supposed to be in here."

Sara felt her face fall and a fear scared tears blurred her vision. "Please, I'm begging you. Don't tell."

"Hey, I'm not an asshole. If you don't want me to, I won't. But you have to do something for me."

Taking a shuddering breath at the thought of what he could possibly want, Sara replied softly, "What?"

"Keep singing."

Feeling her face flush at what she assumed was an insult, Sara hissed, "Stop making fun of me!" Her eyes welled with more tears and she ran towards the band room door, forgetting about her backpack next to the piano as she brushed the tears from her eyes.

A hand on her shoulder made Sara flinch and turn back around, expecting to be hit. The boy looked at her with worry and concern plain on his face. "I promise, I wasn't making fun of you." His voice was insistent and soft, unthreatening.

"Why?" The word felt strange on Sara's tongue. She wasn't allowed to ask why. She didn't ask why when Mr. Scott beat her, and she hadn't asked when her father died. She had filled her quota of asking why. It was essentially a taboo word for her.

"Because you remind me a bit of me- always where I'm not supposed to be and too damn curious for my own good." The boy laughed at himself, and Sara joined. For once, it sounded real. "Haven't you been caught twelve times already?" he continued.

"How did you know that?" Sara asked.

He shrugged, blushing pink. "I've been here listening to you a couple times. Last time I did, the band director yelled something about twelve times. I assumed-"

"You listen to me?" Sara couldn't decide whether to be mad or embarrassed. She did a lot of things she wasn't proud of when she thought she was alone. Once, she had shouted at the piano for five minutes.

"Well, yeah. But I haven't had the guts before today. Other than here, I haven't seen you around in school- are you new?" the boy asked curiously, dropping his backpack on a couch in the corner and waiting for Sara to sit down next to it before he sat on the piano bench.

"Been here about a month now," Sara murmured, throwing an anxious look towards the door.

"It's okay. He's not here today, and either way, we can add your name to my lunch pass." He smiled and pulled a pencil from his pocket.

"I'm Sara Sidle," Sara offered shyly, watching the boy imitate his teacher's handwriting perfectly.

"You're pretty lucky I forgot my regular pass today- I have a plastic permanent one for every lunch period year round," he commented. "Mostly because I suck up to all of the teachers and they would do anything for the smartest kid in school," he added drily.

Sara couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not and decided not to say anything.

"Oh! I'm Gregory Hojem Sanders. You can call me Greg if you want," the boy offered, sticking out his hand.

Sara cautiously accepted it. Then she asked, "Why are you being so nice to me?"

Greg blushed a tiny bit again. "I know what it's like to be the weird one. I'm fourteen, and I've never been in gym or played a sport."

"Why?"

"What is it with you and why?" Greg teased, but Sara sensed she had touched a nerve.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, getting up to leave. "I didn't mean to pry. I'm 15, by the way."

"It's okay, sit back down," Greg assured her.

"Okay…?" Sara sat down again. "I think I need your pass to get back to the lunchroom without getting into trouble…"

"True. Why don't you wait for the end of the period, then?"

"I don't want to intrude on whatever it was you were going to do…" Sara trailed off again.

"I was just going to practice guitar or do some homework," Greg said. "You can stay and listen, and maybe after last period I can take you to the attendance office so you can get your own permanent lunch pass. I can convince them," he said confidently.

"I don't want to be a hassle to you, you would have to come find me or something. Don't worry about the pass," Sara heard herself say, but her brain was screaming _Why would you turn that offer down? He's being nice to you!_

"It's not a hassle, Sara. I think we might have chemistry together last hour… Mr. Wolfe's class?"

Sara nodded. "I sit in the back corner."

"I'm in the front on the other side, I think," Greg said, laughing. "It's funny how we didn't realize."

"Yeah… then that would be really cool, Greg," Sara said, unable to keep the smile from breaking across her face. Then something hit her. "Wait… could I ask one more why question?"

Greg made a face, but he was teasing. "Since I think I know what it's going to be, go ahead."

"Why are we in the same class if you're a year younger than me?"

"I skipped a grade." Greg rolled his eyes. "Best decision ever. I never really fit in anywhere, so moving up a grade in elementary school didn't matter so much."

"Oh… I guess I'll do homework then. If you're sure you don't mind me being here while you practice," she added.

"Stay, I don't care." Greg got up and walked over to the lockers on the other side of the band room as Sara pulled her math textbook out of her backpack. She heard the click of a locker, and then Greg came back and sat on the piano stool with a guitar in his hand. He strummed a few notes to tune, and Sara worked on her math homework as he began to play another familiar song.

_**Lonely thoughs, they seep into mind, into me.**_

_**Pushing deep, wash the dirt, a hard day's work, know my place.**_

_**On my own, no poison in my bones.**_

_**On my own, this is where I build my home.**_

_**My home.**_

_**This will always be my home**_

_**This will always be my home.**_

Sara looked up as he stopped and smiled sadly. Greg saw her expression and put the guitar down. "I'm sorry, bad song choice?"

"No…" Sara brought her courage and continued. "Just very true for my situation."

Greg nodded but didn't press her, for which Sara was grateful.

Then the bell rang and they scrambled around getting their stuff together. "Thanks again, Greg," Sara said shyly as they left the band room and began to walk down the hallway towards classes at a brisk pace.

"Sure thing, Sara. I'm glad I got to meet you," he grinned.

"Me, too," she murmured.

As Sara rounded the end of the band hallway and blended in with the crowd of students in the hallway, she heard Greg shout "Bye!" before moving off the other way in the hallway. She had a wide smile on her face as she headed for math, looking forward to choosing lab partners in chemistry. _Maybe Greg will be my partner…_


End file.
